


Flying Into Something So Sublime

by CantStopImagining



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, First Time, Fluff, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8453536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantStopImagining/pseuds/CantStopImagining
Summary: It’s all so new to Erin - these feelings - that she’s surprised she isn’t having a panic attack over it. Maybe she will, later. (Or maybe she’s been lying to herself for so long that it’s no longer a surprise to her).Or, the morning after the night before.





	

Erin’s a light sleeper. It’s a hangover from years of spending her nights fearing the ghost will come back; she wakes at every single noise, every movement.

The soft mewling noise is enough to draw her immediately out of her sleep, and remind her that she didn’t spend the night at her own apartment. The mattress beneath her is lumpy, not firm, and she’s slept at a slightly awkward angle, with two less pillows than she’s used to. The blinds are pulled, but slithers of light are creeping through all the same, casting shadows on the pale blue wall opposite the bed. Erin squints at the doorway, trying to locate where the sound is coming from.

“Holtz? Do you… have a cat?” she says, quietly. Perhaps too quietly, because Holtzmann doesn’t so much as grunt in response, just continues to snore softly beside her.

Holtzmann. Sleeping in the same bed as her. Naked.

Somehow, these facts creep back up on Erin, and her lips tug into a contented smile. She cranes her neck to look at the other occupant of the bed, can just about make out the mess of blonde curls pooling across the pillow in the dark, the soft slope of Holtzmann’s nose, the flutter of dark eyelashes.

It still feels like some kind of bizarre dream. If Erin didn’t know better, she’d have thought she was hallucinating. Moments like this - perfect, gentle moments of total contentedness, of feeling loved and appreciated, and, if she’s honest, after last night, _worshipped_ \- don’t happen to her. She isn’t anybody’s first choice. Not ever. 

_“Would you really hit on me at a bar?” she’d asked Holtzmann, the night before, squashed into a booth in the bar that they now apparently frequented._

_“I never said that. Why, you want me to?”_

_Erin had scrunched her nose up. She’d remembered it wrong. She’d let out an exasperated huff, and lowered her head to Holtzmann’s shoulder. She’d felt a hand at her waist, rubbing soft circles, and she’d lets the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile at the sensation of it, before she crumpled again._

_“I don’t think I’m a good person,” she’d mumbled, her face half buried in Holtzmann’s shirt._

_“You’re my favourite person,” Holtzmann had told her, and Erin had wondered if she imagined the way the blonde tensed under her. She smiled again, despite the fact she couldn’t help but wonder if Holtzmann was just saying that, “what happened to badass Erin Gilbert ghost-hunter?”_

_“Buster,” Erin had told her, “we’re busters not hunters.”_

_Pulling a face at her, Holtzmann made a noise somewhere between a honk and a sigh, and Erin couldn’t help but giggle at it, before she stopped suddenly, tugging herself away from Holtzmann. She steadied herself against the table, and turned to look at the blonde, surprised when Holtzmann’s expression was entirely serious._

_“Phil could only have sex with me if he wasn’t looking at me. That’s weird right?”_

_Holtzmann had almost choked on her saliva, her eyes going wide. She looked a little flushed, which was incredibly unusual for her, and Erin groaned, put her head face-first onto the table._

_“I shouldn’t have said that,” she grumbled against the wooden surface, “this is why I don’t have friends.”_

_She’d felt Holtzmann moving beside her, and moved to look. Holtz had placed her head on the table too, face turned to look at Erin. Their faces had been inches apart, and Erin hadn’t been able to stop her gaze from moving from bright blue eyes to soft pink lips and then back up again. She swallowed._

_“Phil is an ass,” Holtz had said._

Erin hadn’t been as drunk as Holtzmann had maybe thought. Just drunk enough that she had been sure of herself. Liquid courage. There was no way any of the conversation they’d had the night before would have happened otherwise.

Her head isn’t sore this morning. She turns to move closer to Holtzmann, resting lightly against her shoulder, too scared to touch her any more than that in case she wakes her up. She’s not ready for that, yet, not ready for the conversation that’s bound to follow this. She wants to enjoy it for just a moment longer before they have to face reality.

The cat meows again, and Erin twists to look at it, finally managing to make out the plump fluffy shape in the dark. It stops a yard or so away from the bed, and looks at her as though it’s annoyed that she’s there. It’s the biggest cat she’s ever seen, white and fluffy, with a streak of orangey brown fur on its head.

“Uh, Holtz," she whispers, leaning closer to the sleeping blonde, “I think your cat hates me.”

Holtzmann laughs, the sound coming deep from within her throat, and vibrating against Erin. She turns onto her side, and tugs her closer, her touch more purposeful than Erin’s, more sure of itself. Erin folds into her, burying her face in Holtzmann’s neck.

“He hates everyone,” Holtzmann murmurs, voice thick with sleep, “he’s an asshole.”

Erin ghosts her fingers along Holtzmann’s arm, down to her hand which is tangled loosely in her hair, thumb brushing against Erin’s face. She releases the strands of auburn to take Erin’s hand, threading their fingers together, making no move to get up. Her eyes are still closed, her lips curved up in a small smile. Erin resists the urge to touch the dimple that’s prominent in the corner. She remembers kissing it the night before, and blushes.

She had always imagined - not that she’d spent a lot of time imagining sleeping with Holtzmann, but still - that she’d be hesitant, nervous about touching her. She remembers how over enthusiastic she’d been, how as soon as she’d had her there, and undressed, kissing and touching and sliding fingers into her hair, she’d not been able to keep her hands off her, and it’s embarrassing really. Especially to someone as prudish as Erin, someone who has always taken pride in being calm and collected.

“Thank you for not laughing at me,” she breathes, lifting her head a little to get a better angle to look at Holtzmann.

Holtz laughs, “well, I laughed a bit.”

Erin wrinkles her nose, presses her face into Holtzmann’s jaw.

“You said you were going to pass out. It was adorable.”

“I’m not used to… that,” Erin says, embarrassed. She scrunches her face up, buries it deeper in Holtzmann’s hair. How is she ever supposed to look at her again now? She feels Holtzmann’s fingers roughly rubbing at the soft skin of her side, and sighs against her. This is definitely going to be a problem.

The cat meows. Again.

“Eurghhhhh,” Holtzmann groans.

She jumps out of the bed with all the grace of a stumbling baby deer, and Erin tries not to watch her naked form move around the room. She watches her lift an old t-shirt to her nose, sniff it, and slide it on. 

“Coming?” Holtz asks her.

It’s a lot of work to try and find her clothes from the night before, and the thought of sliding into jeans before having a shower makes Erin’s stomach churn, so she settles on slipping Holtzmann’s over-sized men’s button-down on. It rests awkwardly around her thighs, and she has to roll the sleeves up to expose her hands, but it will do. The look on Holtzmann’s face is worth it, even if it makes Erin’s cheeks turn bright pink. She’s not used to people finding her attractive, not used to the concept of being anything but gawky and stiff. Holtzmann’s dry throated expression the night before after peeling her out of her clothes is still fresh in the back of Erin’s mind.

She tries to stop herself from watching Holtzmann’s retreating backside as the move through to the kitchen, honestly she does. She’s not even sure when this started. When her brain had taken up studying her outline, or the way her hips sway, or the curve of her body through the array of ill-fitting clothes she wore. It’s all so new to Erin - these feelings - that she’s surprised she isn’t having a panic attack over it. Maybe she will, later. (Or maybe she’s been lying to herself for so long that it’s no longer a surprise to her).

The kitchen is a lot tidier than Erin would have imagined it. There are several appliances that look like Holtzmann has built them from scratch - a coffee machine with what looks like a compass attached to it; a microwave with another, smaller metal box on top of it - but the dishes are all done, and there’s no rubbish anywhere she can see it. On the floor by the doorway is a little plastic bowl, and Holtzmann pours cat kibble into it, refilling the contraption to the side of it which seems to be a miniature water cooler.

“What’s his name?” Erin asks, watching the cat fill its face with food.

“Um… Benedict.”

“Right! As in Stanley Rossiter Benedict? Or…?”

Holtzmann tilts her head to one side and grins, “uh, like, Eggs Benedict. First name Eggs, second name Benedict… third name Holtzmann.”

“Oh,” Erin says, for lack of anything else. She bends down a little, hesitantly brushing a hand over the cat’s head. Benedict hisses, pulling away from her, and she jolts backwards.

“I shoulda named him Audrey II,” Holtzmann muses.

Erin laughs, anxiously crossing her arms over her chest for a lack of anything else to do. Holtzmann watches her, leaning against the kitchen counter, her brow slightly furrowed. It’s awkward, and Erin feels herself tense more, realising that she has to say something, but she doesn’t know what to say. She’s terrible at this. And it’s never really counted before - it’s been okay for men to expect her to leave in the morning, or for her to cook for them in the morning, or whatever. It’s been okay for her to not know what she’s doing because it’s never mattered. But with Holtzmann it matters.

“I want to kiss you again,” Holtzmann says, after a moment, “and... touch you some more. Is that… okay?”

Erin lets out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding and smiles at her, “yes, I’d like that too.”

They close the distance between them, and Erin’s hands slip easily around Holtzmann’s waist, their mouths moving together with practiced ease, as though this isn’t only day two, as though they’ve been kissing each other for forever. Erin remembers last night, the clash of noses and awkward laughter, and her lips missing their target, and she knows she ought to be embarrassed, but she isn’t. She melts into Holtzmann’s kiss, kissing her back until she’s breathless again. Holtzmann’s hands move up, under the shirt she’s wearing, rough finger tips brushing gently over the curves of her body, and Erin sighs against her, feels her back hit the edge of the kitchen counter, as her hands slide into blonde curls. 

She feels something brush against her bare legs and almost screams, pulling herself away from Holtzmann to look down.

Eggs Benedict sits glaring up at her, ears pressed back, his back arched, and Erin looks from the cat to his owner, and then back again.

“The presidential suite?” Holtzmann says, with a lop-sided smile.

Erin nods, “we’re closing the door.”

“Yes m’am.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had half of this written out for another fic ages ago but it didn't gel with what I wanted to write so I discarded it... then I was listening to Fun Home (which is a fantastic musical and I'm gutted it's closed), and had an idea, so I drafted this up, very quickly. I'm total trash for domestic fluff I'm sorry.
> 
> I'm still taking prompts on tumblr, @katemckutie, though this month is going to be slow as I'm working on NaNoWriMo too.


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